A recipe that uses fig leaves

Summer, in a bottle.

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We are in the middle of summer here. The days have been hot of late, with full sun, deep blue skies with little rain to speak of. The Linden trees droop heavy with sap along the long quiet driveway. Walking underneath them makes everything that little bit sticky.

There are new pheasants on the land, hundreds of them scuttling about whilst their feathers fully form, awaiting the inevitable at the end of the year and the arrival of the shooting season. In the meantime, their life is spent in the fields, shared with roe deer, muntjac, foxes, rabbits and badgers, all busy in their own way.

Buzzards and red kites circle overhead calling between themselves with that high-pitched shrill cry, searching for the tiniest sign of movement in the long grasses that grow to over waist height and cover you and the dogs in seeds as you push through.

As you come up the driveway to the house, the giant Wellingtonia trees tower over most of the others, there are oaks everywhere, willows, beech, ash and long deep green yew hedges, the orange-coloured berries just appearing, forming boundaries along long forgotten paths. Did you know that yew is one of the most poisonous plants that grow in many gardens, parks and especially churchyards? If you were minded to pull a stick off and chew on it whilst walking, confusing it with pine as would be quite easy, you’d most likely end up in hospital, or worse. Never burn it either, or at least if you do, then make sure there is no one near the smoke as that’ll make you terribly unwell.

Anyway.

A tree that seems to be a little lost here in England, almost out of place entirely is the fig. The abundant green leaves, as huge as your outstretched hand and have that captivating pungency that I’ve so often tried to capture in recipes.